A hint of something deeper between them lingers in the air. Probably nothing more than the obvious oddity that his brothers are about to watch him have sex for the first time. If I didn’t like being watched, I might suggest more privacy.
Wyatt glances from the stool to me. “I want her first time—”
Gabriel’s impatient, which I think I’m grateful for. “I’m guessing by the way she crawled on top of you yesterday, all you need to do is sit here and she’ll have a good time for the both of you.”
If my insides could blush, they would. But he’s right, being with Wyatt felt so natural, except his cock wasn’t in me. I need that. I can already imagine Gabriel sitting on the barstool and me climbing on top of him, my hands on his shoulders as I bounce up and down on his cock. Or maybe he’d have to help me because I’m not sure if it will work to get my feet positioned on the little side supports.
Feeding off the idea of not overthinking it, I say, “Let’s do it.”
Wyatt winks at me. “You’re too good for me.”
“Maybe you’re too good for me?” I say playfully, lingering beside him.
“I don’t want you to get the wring idea. I don’t want you to feel…” I appreciate how sweet he is but he doesn’t need to hold back for me.
I lift the side of the shirt, pulling it up so he can see my bare hip. “Unless you have something better to do, we might as well take advantage of my panties going missing.”
I wink at Gabriel who busts out laughing. “You’re not going to need them until the storm clears.”
“Sounds like I have another offer from your brother. Last call.” I stroke a finger up his thigh.
Gabriel steps closer with each word. “Going…going…”
“She’s mine.” Wyatt’s sternness and his choice of words create all the right feelings inside of me, and a few wrong one that want this storm to last forever.
He grabs my ass, pulls me close for a kiss, then gives me so he can strip. His cock is hard and swollen and he leads me to the barstool.
Gabriels strips my shirt then helps balance me on Wyatt’s lap as I position my feet. Wyatt grips my waist and lifts me so my entrance is stretched around his tip. Urgency races through me.
He says, “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.” He seems to cut off his thought.
Before I can stop the feelings, happiness intertwines itself with the desire coursing through my veins. We’re dancing around the possible repercussions of unprotected sex? I’m playing with fire, and I want to get burned.
His expression intensifies and he regroups. “Let’s just do this.”
I smile at Wyatt, then Gabriel, and send a hopeful glance to Mammoth. He darts his eyes away.
Returning my attention to Wyatt, I nod. We work together to slowly lower me onto his shaft. Unspoken signals from our locked eyes to our growing union to every twitch of our bodies guide us through the intimate moment.
His breathing comes erratically as I stretch around him—understandable if the meaning of life is becoming as clear for him as it is for me. It’s unbelievable… the pleasure, the pain, the mixture, the trust, that vulnerability that he mentioned yesterday.
That’s part of why I chose him to be first. He respects that.
I slowly pump up and down as I get used to him, my body finding it strange and yet the most natural thing. And if the intensity of the orgasm building inside of me is any indication, this is how it’s meant to be done. Masturbation doesn’t come close. This is amazing.
“You’re welcome,” Gabriel says, or I think he does. Did I say, ‘Thank you’? I could have.
Wyatt’s fingers dig into my sides and his grunts become ragged. His brown eyes beg me to stay with him forever, or maybe I’m casting those mischievous feelings onto him.
I give in, enjoying it for the moment. No holding back. I want to experience this fully. I lose myself to his maneuverings as I rush dangerously close to release. I could warn him in case he wants to pull out.
A phone rings, a faint sound, but enough to grab my attention. It’s not my priority. Wyatt keeps working me on his cock. I’m teetering on the edge.
Louder, from somewhere behind us, I hear Mammoth’s voice, “It’s Avery.”
Shit. I’m falling, flailing for control, but it feels too good to splinter apart. My sex contracts around Wyatt’s throbbing shaft.
“Fuck.” His seed sprays into me. Agony, or more likely, ecstasy, etches itself on his face. I think he tried to stop, but we’re lost, drawing each other into a space that’s too comfortable. I never want to leave. His arms tighten around me.